Always
by doolittledarvey
Summary: Harvey's POV to start - Donna's later. There will be a few chapters. SPOILERS etc. Lots of angst to come, but Happy Ever After a dead cert. Post 7x10 the way I want it. "It was always her, and yet it can't be."
1. Chapter 1

**For Mary and Elsa. Because you asked and because I needed to get it out, lol. Sorry, not sorry for the rudie-dudies. My brain just does that . . . ;)**

 **More to follow.**

"Good, you're still here . . . where's Louis? Because I have some news and I think . . ."

He doesn't finish his sentence. Her lips, soft, searching and eager fall against his and for a fraction of a second he thinks he's dreaming. Her arms swing around his neck and his body responds instantly. His stomach spins and his pulse started to race, his skin warming as her delicate curves press into him.

He doesn't know what to do with his arms and he doesn't know what to do with his mouth. He can feel her breasts against his chest and his heart responds to their fullness by hammering hard against his ribcage. He leans into her as currents of intense desire surge through his veins, until his gut aches with yearning and his cock begins to harden.

He wants her.

She makes him forget who he is in an instant because he wants her.

Her fingertips glide through his hair and he closes his eyes and pushes his mouth against hers . . .

But then she stops. He searches her face for answers. Why? Her dark brown eyes tremble as she meets his gaze, her fingers brushing gently against his burning cheek. "I'm sorry Harvey," she says as her eyes scan his, reading every inch of his expression in that way she always does. "I just had to know."

And then she's gone. The scent of her perfume – strawberries mixed with freshly cut daisies – washes over him as she walks out of her office, a flash of flame-red hair burning the outer reaches of his vision. He listens as her heels clack against the carpet, growing quieter the farther she moves away from him and he wonders why he's not following her. He wonders why he isn't calling her back. He wonders why the feelings that were so strong just seconds ago have already twisted into a dark pit of deep regret in the core of his stomach.

He closes his eyes as his mind takes up arms against his heart. Why now? Why did she have to do this now? And what the fucking hell did she 'just have to know'? Did she mean . . .

He falls forward against her desk, his palms wresting flat against the cool, glass surface. His breathing is shallow and his heartrate is galloping. "Why?" he mutters to himself as it hits him. *Paula*. He didn't give her a thought – not one. Not until now. She trusted him and he betrayed her. He pictures her face. Her innocent blue eyes telling him without words that she trusts him. That she cares for him.

Why? Why did she do this now?

Why did he let her and why . . . why can he still taste her? Why does he want to taste more? Why is his cock still bulging and pulsing against his clothes? . . . and why? . . . Why the fuck is his only regret the fact he didn't sweep her up in his arms and kiss her until their bodies melted into each other's.

He turns suddenly, tracing her steps, following the scent of her . . . screw her! Screw her evasiveness, her puzzles, her 'wanting more' and her 'needing to know' bullshit. Why can't she be clear? Why is everything about her so fucking infuriatingly vague?

He slams into the women's bathroom. He doesn't give a shit what he walks in on, he just has to find her. She can't have left the building – not without her coat or her bag – and everyone else will have gone home by now. He bangs every door of every cubicle open, but she's not there.

He heads for the library, then the bull-pen, he rings down to the lobby to see if she's left . . . nobody has seen her. A short pang of anxiety settles into his gut . . . where the hell is she? His anger drops a notch as his concern starts to build. He checks the copy room, the file room – he even checks her old desk which haunts the entrance to Mike's new office. "Donna, please . . ." he whispers to himself. "Please."

For a second he expects to see her as the elevator doors open, but with one last spot remaining, he suddenly find himself calmer. He presses the button and the metal box ascends the darkness, taking him to the roof, his stomach somersaulting with every *ping* that tells him he's getting closer to her.

And he sees her the second the elevator doors open. He walks out into the cold and she's standing still – too still – looking out over Manhattan. Her copper hair catches the moonlight and the hundreds of thousands of lights which twinkle through the glass windows of neighbouring skyscrapers.

She looks so fucking beautiful his breath catches in his throat and his chest aches. For a split second he thinks about turning back. His legs wobble and his pulse quickens. But – somehow – he walks into the night. Towards her.

"I'm sorry," she says, repeating her words from earlier. She doesn't turn around to face him, her gaze fixed onto moonlight and her hands clenched around her arms in an attempt to block out the chill.

He allows her to draw him in. He yearns to reach for her and hold her, but he stops himself. He mustn't touch her. He wants to, but he can't. He thinks of Paula and his anger starts to build again, but when he looks at her silent form, her head hung low and her body seemingly hunched and broken he lets it go. He opens his mouth to talk, but he chokes on air, his throat rasping against the cold.

In all their years together, he has never seen her like this – so raw – so fragile – so . . . so fucking beautiful. The wind sweeps around them, pulling him closer to her, making her shiver as her hair takes flight around her face. He slips his jacket off his shoulders and down his arms. The cold air instantly cuts through his shirt and bites at his skin, but he doesn't care. His flesh is on fire, so the coolness is welcome relief.

He narrows the gap between them once more until he's inches away from her and he covers her shaking body with his jacket. She bristles at his touch and finally turns to face him. He can see she's been crying, two glistening streaks of wetness marking each side of her face.

Her eyes flick up to meet his and he thinks he'll fall to his knees. What is this power she has over him? Minutes ago he was so goddamn furious with her, but now all he wants to do is cradle her in his arms and tell her everything will be okay.

"Donna, please. You have to tell me why."

She pulls the jacket around her shoulders as he stands before her, his eyes pleading for understanding. "Mike . . . um . . . and then Louis . . . they, um . . ."

His eyebrows knit together with confusion. "Donna, you're not making any sense. What did Mike do?"

Her eyes shift to the skyline once more as she inhales a long breath of air before turning back to him. "Mike said . . ." she utters, in a gasp. "He said . . . to tell you how I feel."

He watches her bite on her bottom lip, her features strong and insistent – every inch of her fighting against breaking down. "Okay. And that . . . um . . . kiss is how you feel?"

She nods. "I'm sorry. I don't know why . . . Louis is about to lose Sheila forever and he . . . he said he wishes he could tell her that the man she should be with is . . ." she breaks off as she collects her thoughts, inhaling deeply. "Is standing right in front of her face."

The realisation takes his breath away. His Adam's apple grinds against his shirt collar as he swallows hard. _He wants her._ He wants her so much, but he can't: *Paula*. "Donna . . . I'm in a relationship," he says plainly. Uttering words as if he's closing a deal – words that are sound and logical but contradict everything that he's feeling in his heart.

"I know," she says, her voice breaking. "And I'm so sorry . . . I just had to know."

"What did you have to know? Why, couldn't you have just talked to me? Why, do _that_? How could you of all people make me do _that_?"

She lets out a sob and god he wishes he could forget who they are for just one minute so he could hold her. "I know I was selfish. And I know I was horrible. I just had to . . . I wanted to know how you felt and talking about your feelings? Harvey, you can't do that. We've never been able to have that conversation. We've been going around in circles and enough is enough now. I know it was stupid – but, I figured doing that would tell me how you felt."

His stomach flips as her meaning becomes clear. He's been hiding for so long – they both have. They both chose work. Her rule. His convenience. "And it told you . . .?"

"Yes. It told me."

He swallows again as he realises what he just gave her. Of course, he had no idea at the time - but she took him where she wanted him to be. To a place where he can never go back. A decade's worth of something that was always more than friendship, and yet never more, gone in a flash. Gone the second he returned her kiss. "Donna," he says in protest. She nods her head in sad acceptance.

She slides his jacket off her shoulders and passes it back to him. He takes it and she lets her thumb linger on his hand for just a moment too long. "I know, Harvey. And I'm sorry."

She walks away again and this time he lets her go.

He puts his jacket back on and leans against the barrier at the edge of the building, the white noise created by the city creating the perfect soundtrack to his muddled thoughts.

She loves him. He loves her. It has always been her. Always.

And yet it can't be.


	2. Chapter 2

"What the hell did you do?"

Harvey is at Mike and Rachel's door, his hands balling into fists as he stares down his friend. He isn't planning on hitting him, but his head is in that place it goes to when people interfere in his world and make his life difficult, so who knows. Maybe he'll need his fist, maybe he won't.

Mike stands in front of him with confusion in his eyes. Harvey sees he's ready for bed – dark t-shirt, grey pyjama pants and a towel hanging around his neck. He buries his face in the fluffy cotton, drying his freshly-shaved cheeks, and meets Harvey's gaze – the confusion slowly melting into realisation. "Donna?" he asks.

Harvey feels heat rise in his chest. He left her an hour ago and in the time since it has hit him that his almost-happy-and-comfortable life is slowly becoming a catastrophic shitshow. Mike made that happen. So did Louis. And he had absolutely no doubt that Rachel did it too. They'd all done this to his life and he was going to blame them before he blamed her. It was easier that way.

Harvey pushes past Mike and enters the sitting room. "Where is she?"

"Where's who?" asks Mike, his voice tempered in a bid to ease his friend's bubbling rage.

"Rachel. Who the hell do you think?" Harvey roars.

The door to the bedroom slowly opens and the young lawyer appears wrapping a silk robe around her waist. She walks into the room, looking at her fiancé who gives her a nod of recognition – one that Harvey doesn't miss.

"Were you in on this too?" he barks at Rachel.

"In on what?" she replies, her large black eyes glistening under the bright light of her chandelier.

"Of course you were in on it," he says, taking a seat on the cream sofa. Mike catches Rachel's eye and mouths 'oh shit'.

"Um . . . can I get you a drink?" asks Rachel, her voice a mixture of fear and concern.

Harvey shakes his head. That's the last thing he wants right now. He needs his head clear to deal with this.

Mike moves to sit down opposite his friend, his eyes don't leave Harvey. "What happened?"

Harvey runs his hand through his hair and clenches his jaw tight. He wants to know what the hell has been going on – with his friends, in his goddamn firm – but he's embarrassed. He has never talked about Donna with anyone – not honestly. Not even with Paula. He has deliberately kept his Donna-past secret, and he's not about to divulge it all now. "I want to know what you said to her and why you said it," he says quietly. His head is bowed and he's refusing to make eye contact with either of them.

Mike eye-signals Rachel to leave them for a moment. "I'll get us some coffee," she says walking over to the kitchen.

Mike clears his throat, shifts uncomfortably in his armchair and bends forward. His hands are clasped in front of him – mirroring Harvey's body language. "What did Donna tell you?"

He lets out a short laugh because he still has no fucking idea what she told him. He hasn't a clue what is running through her head, but he knows the puzzle-pieces he has picked up on are terrifying him. "She said you went to see her last night and you told her to tell me how she feels. Is that why you asked if she'd talked to me this morning?"

Mike nods. "I wanted to help."

"Help? Are you fucking kidding me?" yells Harvey, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. "You wanted to help? Have you any idea what you've done? Donna . . . she's falling apart because of you . . . and I . . . I am . . . Mike, you had no right to do this! You don't understand us, nobody does."

"I understand she's unhappy."

His friend's words hit him like a truck, slamming the next breath out of his body. "What?" he says in a gasp.

Mike leans forward again, holding his friend's gaze. A muscle in his cheek pulses and he swallows hard. "She's unhappy, Harvey. And she's my friend too. I can't bear to see her like this. She's changed. She's not the same Donna anymore."

Harvey falls back against the sofa, his face burning as he searches Mike's expression – desperate to find any evidence of uncertainty in his assertions. But there is none. _Donna is unhappy_. Mike knows, Rachel knows, Louis knows. Why didn't he? He thinks back to the day he told her about Paula. It took everything he had to go to her that day and tell her he was in a relationship. She told him she was happy for him. She told him it only bothered her a little bit. _What if . . ._ ?

He stares up at the ceiling as his pulse rockets. "Are you okay, Bud?" Mike says. Harvey doesn't answer him. His mind is too busy replaying every moment of the last couple of months _. How didn't he know? How did everybody else know, except him?_

"She kissed me."

Mike's mouth falls open. "Um . . . okay . . ."

"It's not okay, Mike. She kissed me and . . . and what happens now? I'm with Paula and she has never given me any indication that she isn't fine with that."

"Are you sure?"

Harvey squints at his friend as Rachel appears with a tray bearing three steaming mugs of coffee. "Of course I'm sure," he says, his voice raised, as he takes the offered drink.

Rachel passes Mike a cup, takes one for herself, and perches on the arm of the armchair Mike is sitting in. She senses Harvey's unease with her presence again. "Do I need to go see her, Harvey?" she asks.

Harvey wonders if some of Donna's amazing empathic abilities has been transferred to her best friend. "Yes, I think you might."

Rachel sighs deeply, puts her fresh coffee down on the table and gives Harvey an apologetic smile before going to her bedroom to get dressed.

As soon as they're alone, Mike attempts conversation again. "I told her to tell you how she feels – that's all. Then, she made out there was nothing between you guys. She said you didn't want to be together, but I didn't believe her. There was just something in the way she said it . . . and the way she looked at me. It was like she was on that stand again. She was frightened, she was acting and she was scrambling to protect herself. She builds walls around herself to hide behind."

"You think she's _hiding_ from me?"

Mike takes a sip of coffee. "Yeah Bud, I do."

"Why?"

Mike's gaze flits briefly to his closed bedroom door and Harvey catches his meaning before he even speaks. "Stuff she's said to Rachel. Things she's done since . . ." his voice trails for a moment as his brilliant mind briefly contemplates the many consequences of revealing too much. "Things she's done since you got with Paula."

He's sure he must have been living in a parallel universe. What had blinded him to this? She's said she was fine. She'd said she was happy. "What do you mean 'things she's done'?"

"I don't think I can tell you that, Harvey."

"Mike . . . Mike, please . . . you have to."

Mike lowers his voice as Harvey's face fills with dread, his skin darkening. "There was this guy from her past. His name was Mark something-or-other."

"Mark Meadows?" Harvey asks.

Mike nods. "He wanted to start things up again with her, but . . . well, he didn't tell her at first that he's married now."

"You're fucking kidding me? I never liked that piece of shit. I hope Donna told him . . ." his words get lost in his throat as he catches Mike's reaction. "No . . . she couldn't . . ."

"She didn't," Mike interjects quickly, no doubt remembering Harvey's infidelity tolerance level is set lower than most. "But she nearly did . . . and Harvey, I know she'll probably kill me for telling you this, and that's something I'm going to have to deal with later, but you know Donna better than anyone. How unhappy do you think she'd have to be for her to even consider doing that?"

Harvey nods slowly as he lets Mike's words sink in. He moves from shock to understanding and it all gets jumbled up in a giant knot of pain that lodges in his chest. Donna was . . . is . . . his everything. She was in trouble and he had no idea. She was broken and he didn't notice. Everyone else knew but him. He took her at her word, because that was easier for him than thinking about her. She said she got her 'more' with her promotion. She said she was fine. She said she was happy. He wanted that to be true, but obviously it wasn't.

Rachel appears at the doorway dressed in jeans, sweater and dark wool coat. Harvey stands, not really knowing whether he should stay or go or get in his car and drive until he hits the ocean. His mind is racing with regrets – things he should have noticed. Truths he should have realised. Mike said he thought Donna was hiding, has he been hiding too?

"I should get going," Rachel says as she picks up her bag, popping her keys and cellphone into it as she walks to the door.

"I need to get home." Harvey counters, his stomach sinking as he realises Paula was staying tonight. She was cooking dinner. They were going to watch a movie . . .

Rachel, feeling awkward about the whole situation and deeply worried for her best friend, gives Mike a peck on the cheek, then hurries out the door.

Harvey follows her, but stops in the doorway, turning back to Mike.

"What is it?" Mike asks.

"I guess I'm feeling a bit lost," Harvey admits, letting his guard down for the first time.

"What are you going to do?"

Harvey shrugs. The enormity of what he's facing, making his shoulders sag. "I'm going to hope and pray I don't fuck everybody's life up. How do I tell Paula what happened tonight? She's astute as hell and she's going to pick up on all this, and if she does . . . Mike, I can't do this to her. I can't be the person that does this to a woman. Her last boyfriend cheated on her."

"You haven't cheated on Paula, Harvey. It was Donna who kissed you."

His face warms again as he accepts the facts. "I kissed her back, Mike. And I didn't want to stop."

Mike's gaze shifts to his feet as the immensity of his friend's conflict registers. "Then, I'd suggest you don't tell Paula about this until you've had time to process it . . . and talk to Donna again. But, you need to decide who you want to spend the rest of your life with. And you need to be sure."

Harvey nods slowly, letting Mike's advice sink in. Then he leaves.

It's late when he gets back home – after midnight. He reads a note Paula left on the kitchen island indicating his dinner is in the fridge and – whatever happened tonight – she hopes he can fix it.

His stomach rolls. He spots her bag on the floor and her coat draped over the sofa. She stayed over – maybe even waited up for him. Guilt sends his stomach skydiving to his feet and his anger starts to build again. But this time it's building against Donna. She knows his past. It took almost twenty-five years for him to forgive his mother's cheating. She helped him through that. She was there each time his issues made him fuck up something good in his life: Scottie. Zoe. Work. She knows him better than anyone – even Paula – so how could she do this to him? That kiss wasn't down to Mike and Rachel's meddling. It was down to Donna trying to prove something to herself – something ambiguous. She's his emotional superior – everyone's emotional superior – so why was that her last resort . . . he can't connect the dots yet. He's been trying to understand what she meant by 'I just needed to know' ever since she kissed him. He thought he understood when they were up on the roof earlier, but how do you interpret the words of somebody when they're so totally fucking confused? Does she even know what she wants?

He's still trying to work out the meaning of her 'needing to know' ten minutes later, when he's climbing into bed with Paula. She stirs slightly, her small frame moving gracefully in the bed, her pale arm wrapping loosely around his waist as she sleeps peacefully. He'd usually turn to face her and settle into her warmth, but this time he can't. This time he lies stiff, his mind consumed by the images of another woman's mouth caressing his and smooth freckled skin covering his naked chest. He sees hurting brown eyes instead of innocent blue ones, and shining waves of soft red hair spread over his white cotton pillows.


	3. Chapter 3

Harvey can see the banks of elevators in the lobby stretching out before him . . . just. It's early for him and he doesn't want to be here. He's had days like this before: Mike's trial, the day after Jessica left, all the times he knew a shitstorm with Louis was brewing . . . days when he'd rather be at home, or at the gym, or on death row awaiting his fate. Anywhere but here.

He notices the lobby is busier than usual. Maybe this is what it's like early in the day. As he fights his way through a sea of business suits he feels smug that he's smart enough to come to work late. Arrive late and stay late. Well stay as long as he pleases, if he's being honest. The only time he worked day into night was when he was a young associate, learning the ropes and eager to please.

*oomph*

He walks into the back of a short, bald man who gives him a death stare. "Sorry," he mutters instinctively, but instantly wishes he hadn't. The guy's attitude doesn't deserve politeness.

Seconds later he sees her.

Or, rather, he sees the back of her. Her figure is unmistakeable. She's standing still, in the middle of a crowd of people waiting for the elevators. Long coils of copper hair shining bright like a beacon, drawing him in. Her dress is brilliant white among the dark black, blue and grey suits which circle around her. Her arms are bare, light freckles dusting her creamy skin, and her long legs – those amazing go-on-forever legs of hers – are perfectly poised in her signature nude heels. He can't take his eyes off her and he starts to forget. The feelings he was harbouring from last night – rage, betrayal, maddening frustration and confusion – were raw until the second he saw her, but now they're dissolving. He watches her knee length skirt float on an air-conditioned breeze as she stands motionless in front of him and all his bad feelings scatter to the ground.

All he wants is her and he forgets.

The twelve elevators surrounding them seem to arrive at once, their doors opening with a ping to admit the suits, but she doesn't move and neither does he. He walks closer to her as the metal doors snap shut and suddenly they're alone.

He says her name. Softly. It's almost a whisper, but he likes how it feels on his tongue.

She doesn't move.

He listens to the hum of her breathing, the tight bodice of her dress pinching slightly with each inhalation, but she doesn't move.

He says her name again and he circles around her. *Donna*

And then he freezes. She's crying. Her hazelnut-eyes covered in a veil of water, her pale skin is reddened and her face is wet.

"Donna," he says again as he moves to face her. He feels an urge to touch her, but he doesn't. There's just something about her that looks too fragile to touch. Like she should be behind glass in a museum.

Her gaze meets his as her sobs become louder. It feels like his heart breaks from his chest, sinking into his gut, twisting itself into a painful, knotted mess.

"Donna," he repeats as he watches her body tremble before him. "Donna, please. Talk to me."

Her hands move to her chest and she lets out a gasp. "I'm . . . sorry . . . Harvey."

He doesn't understand. What now? Whatever it is, it doesn't matter. Whatever she's done, he doesn't care. His eyes squint as he scans her still-quivering body, a strong sense of fear building within him and a bitter taste forming in his mouth. "Donna, it's okay. Please. We'll get through this. We're a team, remember?"

He waits for a smile, a look, a recognition . . . anything. But, there's nothing. Her hands are still clasped to her chest and . . .

. . . the shock slams into him in an instant . . .

He looks around, ready to scream for help, but they're still alone in the lobby. The light outside fading to black even though it is still early morning.

"Oh my god, Donna!" he screams as he rushes forward. "Oh Jesus! Oh fuck! No . . ."

A pool of bright red blood spreads slowly from beneath her fingers and across her chest, staining her white dress. But she still doesn't move. She isn't screaming like he is. She is just standing in front of him motionless . . . yet still so fucking beautiful. The only sounds he hears is her sobs and his own rattled, frantic breaths.

He reaches forward, but she takes a step backwards. "Don't touch me," she cries. "Please, don't."

"What's happening Donna?"

"It hurts Harvey. It . . . hurts . . . so much."

He pulls his cell from his pocket, his hands shaking. "I'm calling for an ambulance."

"No, you don't understand. There's nothing they could do."

His fingers freeze over the small screen. He can't think. He can't remember the number he needs. "What do you mean?"

"It's always been like this." The red completely covers the bodice of the dress now and it runs like velvet ribbons down her skirt. "I don't want it to hurt anymore. Please just make it stop hurting."

His head spins. If he could make this nightmare end for her, then he would. He would take all the pain on himself. "Donna . . . I don't . . . I can't make it stop. I don't know what's happening. Tell me . . . tell me what to do."

"My heart is broken Harvey," she says as her white dress is finally consumed by red. "And you broke it."

She drops to the floor then, a pool of dark red blood emerging from her body and gushing in a river towards him. "Donna! No, please, you can't die. Donna! Donna!"

He's still screaming out her name when he bolts upright in his bed.

His body is covered in layers of sweat, his black t-shirt is stuck to the contours of his chest and his hair is dripping wet. His head pounds as the adrenalin courses through him, his breathing is so shallow his chest aches.

He feels Paula's arm move to his back. Her small hand pressing against him for comfort, but he doesn't want her there. He doesn't want her to see this. He shuts his eyes, hoping and praying that his heart will slow down. He's awake now. It's over. It has to stop, but it doesn't. The panic is still there and it's rising into his throat.

"Harvey, breathe with me," she says and she's different. She's leaped into doctor mode. He realises he needs that so he listens to her and takes direction.

She places her hand on his chest. "Listen to me. You're safe, everything is fine. You've had a bad dream, that's all."

Her voice is clipped and precise. Supportive. What he needs. He closes his eyes again and tries to shut out the pain in his neck which is making his head feel like it's about to separate from his body. The panic is still there, choking him. Cutting off his blood supply. "I . . . can't . . ."

"Shush. Don't speak. Just concentrate on breathing. Let me help you." She leaves one hand on his back while the other takes hold of his hand. Her fingers lock with his and for a moment he doesn't feel like he's drowning – he feels like he's reached the surface – but then he remembers Donna's words in his nightmare, ' _My heart is broken, Harvey,'_ and all of a sudden he's getting dragged down deeper and deeper . . .

He pushes Paula away and climbs out of bed. He stumbles against his furniture. He can't find enough air, he feels his lungs tighten and he falls to his knees.

"Harvey, I'm calling an ambulance!" she says as she leaps out of bed and darts for the telephone.

He raises one of his arms to stop her. "No . . . water . . ."

She does as she's told. She disappears to the kitchen area. He hears the water leave the faucet and rush into a glass. His dry mouth starts to beg for it. He positions himself on the floor – back against the wall and legs outstretched in front of him.

Paula kneels down beside him and helps him take a sip. He feels better the second the cold water enters his mouth. The liquid eases the strain on his throat as it runs into his stomach.

They wait together in silence. She knows to wait and to watch, her arm resting on his as his breathing slowly returns to normal.

But he can't look at her or think about her. He knows the guilt will overwhelm him if he does. And he's afraid of another attack. He grinds the back of his head against his bedroom wall, his mind places an image of her – of Donna – before him, but he daren't think about her. He summons everything he has to block out the bloodied image from his dream.

They sit there for a long time. Twenty minutes, maybe thirty. Paula giving him the space he needs to heal from the panic attack and he is thankful that she's there for him. He should return to bed, but he can't. He doesn't want this moment to end – this post panic recovery period of time – because the moment it ends, she's going to make him talk and he can't. He doesn't want to.

"Has this happened before, Harvey?" she says quietly. Her words, breaking his thoughts and his stomach sinking because he knows his time is up.

"Not, since . . . before."

"I don't mean the panic attacks, Harvey," she says as if she can see straight through his skin and bones and into the darkest, most sheltered regions of his mind. He laughs inwardly. Of course she can see into his fucking mind! That's her job.

He drains the last drops of water from his glass and blocks out his bladder's call to pee. He doesn't have the energy to get up and go to the bathroom – he decides to wait until he gets a pain from holding it in for too long.

"How often do you dream about her?"

The question cuts through him and his body braces. Christ, is she trying to give him another panic attack? "Paula . . ." his eyes dart from her inquisitive gaze as he says her name. Pleading with her to give up.

"It's a reasonable question Harvey. I know you dreamed about her last year. In therapy."

He shakes his head. Not that. Why the hell is she reminding him of that?

"Harvey. If you want the dreams to stop, we need to understand why your subconscious uses Donna as a symbol of something you need to contend with – emotions you're trying to shut away. When you dreamed of her in your bed—"

"Paula, stop!" he yells suddenly, making her jump. "I'm sorry," he says quickly, apologising to her with his eyes and offering a gentle smile. "I don't want to talk about that."

Her ice-blue eyes scan his face until he looks away, frightened about what she'll see inside him. "Was Donna okay in court?"

He shakes his head. "No, it was pretty bad."

Paula sighs, reflecting his own sympathy for the trauma he had put her through. "What happened?"

"We thought we had it under control. Louis thought he'd found a way to get Donna out of testifying, but Malik took our legs out from under us. He got her up there and he came at her with everything he had. And he did that to get at me."

"I'm sorry, Harvey," Paula says, with a supportive squeeze to his arm. "But you can't blame yourself. Donna's a big girl, I'm sure she'll be fine—"

"No, she wasn't fine. There's just something about court with her . . . she's so self-assured usually, but every time she's had to take the stand something just caves inside her and she crumbles. It was my fault she was put through that and I couldn't stop it. I couldn't save her."

Paula's brow crinkles in confusion. "You couldn't _save_ her? Harvey, surely it wasn't that bad. Is she in trouble?"

"No, she's not in trouble, but he destroyed her. He made out that . . . he implied . . . okay, he twisted everything she said and told the court she only got her COO position because she'd do anything I asked of her – like hide evidence."

"I see," says Paula, her eyes revealing how fast her mind is working. "That must have been awful for her."

"She's spent three months trying to prove herself and he destroyed everything she achieved in an instant. We should have prepared her with the mock trial, but I didn't want to . . ." he clams shut, frightened of revealing too much.

"Why didn't you want to?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Harvey—"

"I said it doesn't matter. It's all over now anyway and we can't turn the clock back."

Paula sits in silent, words he knows she wants to say left hanging between them. "Did Malik imply she got her job because she was sleeping with you?"

His stomach turns inside out and he clenches his jaw tight. "Paula . . . don't . . ."

She laughs softly. "Harvey, I told you before that I'm not threatened by you having another woman in your life that means something to you. Donna has been a huge part of your life for over a decade. It's understandable that you want to protect her and you feel responsible for what happened at court. Don't feel like you can't talk to me about her."

Her reassurances are so convincing that for a brief moment he considers telling her everything about Donna. But of course, he can't. She trusts him only because she doesn't know everything. "Okay, he did imply that. And it wasn't the first time she's been questioned like that."

"Harvey, it's understandable that you feel bad about that, but it isn't your fault. If anything, it's her fault."

His back bristles and he lurches into protective mode. "This isn't Donna's fault, Paula. It's mine."

"Harvey, think about it from the outside looking in. Here is a woman who has worked closely with you for years. She knows she has feelings for you, she's probably had feelings for you since the first day she met you, and she knows you don't feel the same. Yet, she can't move on. She can't leave your side. It's very unhealthy for her."

Harvey shakes his head as Paula speaks, silently refuting the assumptions he has deliberately let her make about his relationship with Donna.

"I popped into your office the other day, and Donna was there. We talked, and I have to say there was something quite odd about her. She knows how long we've been together and she knows every move we make. She probably even knows how many nights of the week I stay over. I want to be sympathetic to her plight, Harvey. I mean, we wouldn't know each other if she hadn't left you to work for Louis that time, but the fact she had that effect on you shows how totally dependent you are on one another. She left you after you rejected her, but she came back. And you were magically healed of your panic attacks the day she returned. Your mind places Donna in your dreams as a manifestation of your mother's betrayal – after all Donna filled the mother-void in your life for over a decade – but you've reconciled with your mother now and you have me, so maybe it's time to finally let Donna move on."

"She has moved on. She has her new job—"

"She sits in an office three feet away from you, Harvey."

"What do you want me to do, move her office?"

"No, I want you to let her move on by releasing her from your dreams. You woke up from a nightmare screaming another woman's name, and that isn't a small deal, Harvey. It's a very big deal."

He stands then. All of a sudden he's tired of Paula's prying. "The nightmare was because of the trial."

"The trial was three days ago," she counters, rising to her feet in front of him.

"Well it could be because Jessica is getting disbarred, or because Louis and I need to find—"

"Harvey, what happened in the nightmare?"

Shit. Why? He thinks of the worst case scenario that could arise from telling the truth and he figures it couldn't be worse than more panic attacks, so he decides to step into the unknown. "She was hurt and she was crying . . . she was wearing a white dress and it was covered with blood. She said I did it."

"Why would she say that, do you think?"

"Because I broke her heart."

Paula's eyes search his and he knows the game's up. "Harvey, this nightmare happened because you feel guilty about not letting Donna move on. Can't you see that, or is there something you're not telling me? You told me Donna left you last year because you rejected her, and she . . . okay, I'm going to tell you something I haven't told you before. She came to my office last year. She was looking for you – there was a matter of great urgency at the firm and you were needed."

He feels like the air has been knocked out of him. He sits down on the bed, fearing he may collapse otherwise. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I didn't see you again after that meeting. Not until you turned up on my doorstep to ask me out."

"What did she say?"

"She thanked me for taking care of you and she told me you didn't know what you were missing. She seemed sad and I felt sorry for her. I knew then that she was in love with you and she was trying to move on. I must say, I never expected her to return to work for you. The fact she did do that just proves that you're not being fair to her . . ."

Her last few sentences are blocked out by white noise. Donna said he didn't know what he was missing? She's confided her feelings to Paula and neither of them had told him? All he can think about is the pain he must have put her through. Why had it taken him so long to realise?

"Harvey—"

"Hmm . . ."

"I asked you why Donna left you for Louis."

"I told her I loved her." The words tumble out of his mouth before he realises what he's saying and he curses his stupid brain filter for landing him in a pile of shit so deep and so stinking rotten that he's going to need an industrial excavator to get him out.

Paula stairs at him blankly. She is unreadable and yet her eyes are still boring into his soul, always scrutinising his reactions. "And do you?"

"No. I mean yes . . . I mean of course, I love her . . . she's my best friend."

Paula smiles weakly at him and starts to walk out of the room. He lets her go. He takes the opportunity to go to the bathroom and pee. He thinks of her the whole time he's alone, and he feels guilty he's thinking about her instead of Paula – the woman he chose to have a relationship with. Or rather, the woman he chose because he knew she'd support him if Donna's asking for 'more' meant she was going to leave him again.

She's dressed when he re-enters the bedroom, dawn breaking through the windows colouring the Manhattan skyline amber. He watches her brush out her neat blonde hair. She looks perfect, but not. There's something missing. Paula pins her hair up into a ponytail and he wishes she wore it long – like her. His brain shows him fire instead of straw and when she puts on her black pumps, he imagines how her legs would look in nude heels.

He is so lost in thought that he doesn't notice she's leaving. He remembers to ask her why when she picks up her coat.

"Paula, please. I need you."

"Need?" she asks, her face stiff and irritated. "I don't exist to help you through your Donna shit, Harvey?"

"My . . . what . . .?"

"You came to me last year because of _her_. Why did you come to me two and a half months ago? It wasn't because you couldn't stop thinking about me, Harvey. I knew that from day one."

"Paula, I . . . I told you the truth."

She tilts her side and rolls her eyes. "Yeah, you probably do think you told me the truth. But now, I'm going to ask you the same question again that I asked you ten minutes ago, and I want you to answer me truthfully."

He thinks back to ten minutes ago – that question – those three words – he starts praying.

"Are you in love with Donna and is Donna in love with you?"

"I don't know."

Paula doesn't ask for clarification and as he watches her gather up her things and leave his apartment, he's at least glad she didn't ask him to specify whose feelings – his or hers – he was unsure about.


End file.
